On a Deserted Island
by JAGNikJen
Summary: AU - Sam and Ainsley have remained friends after the Bartlet years. Ainsley is finally getting married and Sam is to be her gentleman of honor, but can he remain honorable and not tell her how he really feels?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own The West Wing, Sam Seaborn, Ainsley Hayes, et al. I do, however, own Dan. I am making no money off this endeavor. The only thing I've earned is the pleasure that comes from writing and the possibility of some nice comments.

AN: Many thanks to ilovenascar, ldugan, and fc2001 for the beta reads. Any remaining errors are mine.

AN2: There is a reference to Sports Night in one of the five chapters of this story. Anyone who stumbles across it and sends me a Private Message with the correct reference will be entered into a drawing for a $5 online gift certificate for .

~*~

**Chapter One**

Newly elected Congressman Samuel Norman Seaborn propped the phone between his shoulder and his ear as he taped up another cardboard box. Damn, he hated packing.

"Did you find a place yet?" he asked, pushing the box away and reaching for his bottle of water. He settled against a wall and took a swig.

His good friend—his best friend—Ainsley Hayes sighed. "Not yet. But I have a couple leads. You?"

He'd finally won the California 47th; and in an odd turn of events, a house seat in North Carolina had also become available. Ainsley ran and won. And now they were both on their way back to D.C., at least part time.

Sam was glad; ecstatic, in fact. He missed seeing her on a regular basis. If it weren't for the eyebrows they'd raise and the fact that she had a steady boyfriend, he'd suggest they share a home and expenses.

He shifted the phone to the other ear. "Possibly. But I have to see it in person. I was thinking of buying a house, but I don't know if I'll qualify for two mortgages; and I don't want to sell my house here."

"Why can' shoo shell that housh?" she asked.

"Are you talking with food in your mouth?" Sam asked, chuckling. Some things never changed.

"Shorry..."

"Well, I still have to, you know, _live_ in my district. And it's not that I can't sell it, I just don't want to."

"Why not?"

"I love this house, and someday I do plan on coming back here to actually live. Besides, real estate, especially here in California, is always a good investment. And if I change my mind and want to sell, the value will just have increased."

"Sam, you're such a nerd."

"Hey, I'm just thinking about my future. You never know what's going to happen when we get to Congress."

"Too true," she said with a laugh.

"What about what's-his-name?" Sam hated even thinking about the other man in her life, but he'd missed the opportunity to make her a permanent part of his the last time it came around—or he just wasn't paying attention. He was such an idiot. What he wouldn't give to go back; after careful and thorough brain wracking, he'd finally figured out when it had all gone to hell in a hand basket. "Is he staying in Charlotte?"

_Please oh please oh please..._

"For the time being; he's finishing an internship. It'll be over in a few months and then we'll go from there," Ainsley said.

"An internship at his age?" Sam asked. They guy _was_ a few years older than her.

"He's sub-specializing. That means he has to intern again."

Sam shook his head. "If you were my woman, there's no way in hell I'd let you out of my sight—let alone my life—for that long."

"Sounds a little caveman-ish for my liking, Sam."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"I do know it," she said softly. The sentiment hung in the silence for several moments. Finally, she cleared her throat. "Anyhow, it's just a few more months. His career is important, too. He's worked long and hard to get where he is."

"Long distance is rough, you know," Sam said. He'd tried that with Lisa and look where it had gotten him—still unmarried on the downside of thirty. Not that there weren't other things wrong with that relationship.

"It's not that far. We can fly on weekends," she said, ever the optimist.

"Trust me, it's hard."

"We'll figure it out."

She sounded so confident and happy, and Sam's heart cracked just a little bit more. "Well, if it doesn't, you do know I have a list of people who'd be willing to sleep with you to help you get over him." And he wasn't ashamed to admit, at least to himself, that he was right at the top.

"That is good to know. I'll keep it in mind," she said wryly.

"Well, I have to get back to packing. I'll call you when I get to D.C., all right?" He'd be there at the end of the week to look at an apartment just northeast of Dupont Circle, among others. But he was determined to get his housing situation figured out and finalized so he could get the next phase of his life started. He wasn't looking forward to the weekend at all. Traipsing from one end of town to the other looking at empty apartments was not his idea of fun.

"I'll talk to you then. Bye, sugar."

Wonder what ol' Dan would think about her calling Sam _sugar_. It had startled Sam the first couple of times—until he realized it was just her brand of deep friendship. She was from the south after all.

~*~

"I found a place!" Ainsley's exuberant voice reverberated around Sam's brain two days later.

He smiled. What a way to wake up. He wished he could wake up to it every morning. But that was a heartbreak for another day.

He pushed himself to an upright position and blinked away the remnants of sleep. "You do know it's only five-thirty in the morning here on the west coast?"

"Oh, Sam, I'm so excited, I completely forgot about the time difference. I'm so sorry. I'll make it up to you."

"I'll hold you to that," he said. "Now tell me about your new place. Have you seen it yet?" He padded to the kitchen, cell phone pressed to his ear.

"Just pictures. I'm going tomorrow. It's on Newport Place just southwest of Dupont Circle, but if it lives up to the pictures..."

"Are you kidding? The first place I'm looking at is just northeast of Dupont." They'd practically be neighbors. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Turns out one of Dan's old frat brothers is a real estate agent in the District," she said. "He found the apartment for me. You want me to ask about something for you?"

"No, I've got an agent and a whole slew of places lined up to look at. Come hell or high water, I'll have something chosen by Sunday."

There would be no connection between Dan and him. No way, no how.

"You sure?" Ainsley asked. "It's his job; it's not like I'm asking him for a favor or anything."

"No, no; it's fine. My agent seems pretty knowledgeable. If I need help, I'll let you know."

"All right. So I'm moving at the end of the week. Will you have time to come see it while you're here?"

"I'll make time; you know that," he said, hoping she wouldn't hear the longing in his voice. It was pretty sad that he could hear it himself.

"Yes, you always make time for me," she said, her voice soft and melancholy all of a sudden.

He didn't quite know what to say. Of course, he made time for her. Her friendship was important to him. She was important to him. More important than almost everything else.

Damn, was this one of those opportunities? He just wasn't sure. He didn't want to miss it, but, then again, he didn't want to completely humiliate himself either. He wished he were better with women. That he could read the signs better.

"How's packing?" she asked, with forced cheerfulness before he could come up with anything to say to her.

"It's not hard as long as you remain organized," he said.

"You have, like, a list, don't you?" she asked, a genuine smile back in her voice now.

"Of course, I have a list." He was a man of organization after all. Well, except when it came to women and speeches...

"You're such a woman," she teased.

"Hey! Don't you have a list?"

"Nope. I'm just going from room to room, filling boxes and putting them by the front door. Dan comes once a day and loads them on the moving van."

"And when you get to D.C. and discover you have twelve wine glasses but no corkscrew, I'm going to laugh."

"Because they don't sell corkscrews in D.C.?" she asked saucily.

Sam could just imagine her expression and would have given anything to see her right then. "Running out for one right before serving dinner is as awkward as the middle-of-the-night condom run."

"Hmm...a problem you've had often? Doesn't sound very organized to me."

"Organization's one thing—preparedness is another. And you can bet your sweet ass that had I had even an inkling that I was going to get some that night, I'd have been prepared."

"I see," she said, sounding like a disapproving old school marm.

"I'll have you know that I've never been unprepared since." He made sure to put a fresh condom in his wallet at least monthly. Well, not so much anymore, because there was only one woman he had any sexual interest in, and she was unavailable.

"Well then, I'll make sure I look for a corkscrew before my next dinner party."

"You'll forget," he said.

"I'm not one hundred percent sure I own a corkscrew now. I'm not much of a wine drinker."

"You really should be. I'll bring over a good bottle so we can celebrate our mutual congressperson-ness."

"Is that a word, Sam?" she asked with a chuckle.

"It is now. My first bill will be to submit this word for inclusion in all the official dictionaries."

She laughed.

~*~

Saturday night, he knocked on her door, the best bottle of Chardonnay he ever tasted in hand. She opened the door and took his breath away.

A navy blue scarf with a paisley print held back her long blonde hair. Only two buttons held the white men's dress shirt closed, revealing a pale décolletage and the fraction of a tattoo over the waistband of the dark blue sweatpants that hung low on her hips. Some sinfully sexy cherry red polish covered her finger and toenails.

He swallowed.

She grinned at him. "Hi there."

"I brought the wine," he croaked, holding up the bottle. Who needed wine? He was drunk just looking at her. Couldn't he just ply her with alcohol and whisk her off to the king size bed she claimed she had? Spread that luscious mane of hair and her pale body across some dark colored sheets.... Kiss his way from one end of her to the other...

Her laughter brought him back to the here and now; to the acceptable. "Earth to Sam..."

He blinked away the images of his tanned skin against her alabaster flesh flushed with desire— He shook his head.

"I have a corkscrew." She held it up and stepped back. "Come on in."

He swept her up in a huge hug, twirling her around, and eliciting a delighted laugh. She smelled as delectable as she looked. He set her down with a kiss to her cheek.

Sam looked around at the wood floors and wine-colored walls. "I love it." He pointed at the haphazardly stacked boxes. "And I love what you've done with the place."

"I'm one woman unpacking an entire apartment." She offered him a mock frown before dissolving into sweet laughter.

Music to his ears. He'd missed hearing it in person and seeing her face light up with mirth when she did.

"I'll be in the same boat next week—living out of two suitcases and sleeping in a sleeping bag."

"How very organized of you." She led him into the kitchen, which was largely unpacked.

She was more beautiful than he remembered. Her hair was longer, too. Almost past her waist. He sighed and leaned against the doorjamb, running a hand through his own hair. It was an unsatisfactory attempt to assuaging the itch he had to run his fingers through her hair. "The moving truck will pick up my stuff Wednesday afternoon and arrive sometime Saturday morning. Hopefully."

"I'll cross my fingers for you. Would we like snacks with our wine?"

"You have food already? You've only been here, what—six hours?" He glanced at his watch and back at her.

She looked at him like he'd just asked if she was breathing.

"Right. Whatcha got?"

"Cookies. Chips. Muffins. _Fresca._"

"Of course." He laughed and shook his head as he took a seat.

She made a face at him and brought a plateful of muffins over to the table.

He took one and sniffed the crown. Banana nut. "Thanks."

She sat in one of the chairs, curling her feet up under her, those cherry red toenails catching his attention.

"So now we're congress people," she said, reaching for a muffin.

He dragged his gaze from her toes to her face and replayed her words in his head. Right. "Kinda scary, isn't it?"

"Hell, yeah."

"I hope we can do some good," he said, patently ignoring her wriggling toes.

She nodded, her eyes turning serious. "Yeah. That'd be really nice."

"That'll be harder from your minority position," he said with a grin.

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I'll make up for it with being a loud obnoxious Republican. Oh wait, they might mistake me for Nancy Pelosi or Barbara Boxer."

"Believe me—no one is going to mistake you for either of those women."

"Why, thank you, Congressman Seaborn," she said, inclining her head in his direction. "That's very kind of you."

"That's the God's honest truth. Those women give the Democratic party a bad rap."

Ainsley raised her brows and wrinkled her nose.

"What I mean is that you are class and style personified. You are well-spoken and present concise and logical arguments. Those women are shrews." He reached for the corkscrew and the bottle. "You ready to try this wine?"

She nodded and got up.

"So where's what's-his-name?" Sam asked as she grabbed a pair of glasses and came back to the table. "Did he just drive the truck up and hightail it back home?"

"His name is Dan, as you well know. He drove the truck here and unloaded it, too. But he had to get back to Charlotte. His mother's seventieth birthday is tomorrow, and they're having a big to-do for her."

"And why aren't you going?"

"Oh, she doesn't like me. I'm in politics. Don't you know a _Southern lady never dirties her hands with politics?_" She affected an even thicker Southern drawl than normal as she said the last part.

"You've been dating how long, and his mother still doesn't like you?"

"Just over two years."

"What's going to happen if he ever asks you to marry him?"

"That's a very good question. I guess she'll just have to like me or lump me."

"Oh, that'll go over well, I'm sure."

She winked at him and grinned.

"Two years, huh? You think a proposal is coming anytime soon?" Sam hated even thinking it.

"I imagine so," she said, shrugging. "Probably once his internship is over and he decides to move up here."

"You going to let him move in with you?"

She wrinkled her nose—not in a cute_ I-hadn't-thought-about-that_ way, but in more of a _I'm-not-so-sure-I-like-that-idea_ kind of way.

"It would be the logical thing to do," she said, not sounding enthused at all.

"Well, if he proposes, and you accept, you're going to have to live together eventually," Sam pointed out. He considered her reaction to Dan's moving in and asked, "So why accept?"

She rolled her eyes and said, "I love him. He loves me. I see us together the rest of our lives."

"But you clearly have issues about living with someone—or is it just him?"

"Don't be silly, Sam." She cleared her face and looked at him, but not before he caught the uncertainty that flashed there.

"It just really hadn't occurred to me. It'll be _fine_," she said.

"Of course, it will," he said, pouring the wine and handing her a glass. It was time to be the friend he was supposed to be. He raised his glass to her— "To congressperson-ness." —and then took a sip. "Mm..."

Ainsley followed suit. She swirled the liquid around in her mouth before swallowing. "This is good, Sam."

"I'm glad you like it," he said with a smile.

"So...any potential Mrs. Seaborns on the horizon?"

"Nope." There was only one person he could see in that role, at this point, and he was looking at her. He either needed to say something, or get over it. Despite her doubts, that she denied to herself that she even had, she was heading toward a life with Dan.

"You have time."

"Yeah," he whispered, gazing at her for several long moments. But how much? And was he really the guy who would break up someone else's relationship?

"Sam?"

"Yeah," he said more firmly. He shook his head, sending his morose thoughts away, and returned her gaze.

She studied him now. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

She didn't look convinced but didn't say anything else; she just took another drink of her wine.

~*~

"Sam! Hey, Sam!" Ainsley saw his tall frame and dark hair over the heads of the other House members as they dismissed from the chamber and headed for their offices.

He turned and perused the sea of faces and finally spotted her. A smile creased his handsome face and he lifted a hand in greeting.

She caught up with him and looped her arm through his. "Hey, handsome, how was your day?" They didn't get to see one another as much as she had hoped they would. But it was just the beginning. Surely, once they settled into a routine, they'd be able to find the time or make it.

"Just fine. How was it on your side of the aisle?" he asked before leaning down to kiss her cheek.

"Hey—you realize she's a Republican, right?" asked the guy from the Colorado 5th, with dead seriousness, as he passed by.

"What?? Dammit, Ainsley, why didn't you tell me?" Sam asked, with a mock look of shock on his face. He wiped his lips off, too. "Oh, no—now I've got Republican cooties."

The guy looked back and threw Sam a frown. Ainsley laughed, as did several others in their vicinity.

"Can you believe it's only been two months since we started?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No. It seems like much longer. Got the office all sorted out, yet?"

"Bit by bit. You know me. I like to let my office accrue stuff over time. Of course, it's no bigger than Leo's closet at the White House."

"No pipes, though, right?"

"Not a one." She'd never been so happy to get promoted and get out of that basement office, although, truly, she would have stayed there just for the sheer honor of working in the White House and for President Bartlet—even if he was a Democrat.

He grinned. "You want to get dinner to celebrate two whole months in office?"

"I'd love to. We can talk about our cool new jobs."

"Sounds good."

"The Ethiopian place?" she suggested. She hadn't eaten there in a while.

"Woman after my own heart."

She looked up at him. "I've missed it." She hadn't realized how long two months could actually be until just now when she realized how long it had been since they'd spent any time together. Their seats in the chamber were mighty far apart. And as junior representatives, they rarely got the chance to speak to anything.

"No Ethiopian food in North Carolina?" he quipped.

Something in his voice pierced her heart. "Your heart, Sam," she said, tightening her grip on his arm.

"My heart's yours for the taking," he said quietly instead, his gaze locking onto hers.

The look in his eyes gave her pause—he looked like he wanted to kiss her. More than kiss her, actually. _Oh, Sam...._ She didn't know what to say. She loved Dan. They talked weekly. Things were great.

She ended the awkward silence by re-answering his question. "Nope, no good Ethiopian food in North Carolina."

"Yeah, well, there's no good Mexican food in D.C.," he countered, schooling his features back into the happy-go-lucky Sam everyone knew and loved.

"I'm sorry," she said. _For more than there not being any good Mexican food in D.C._

"Yeah. I had a quesadilla for lunch yesterday that had bacon in it."

"Eew."

"Wait...you're actually rejecting a bacon-laden food?" Sam asked, his good nature beginning to reassert itself.

"It just seems wrong," she said, wrinkling her nose.

He laughed out loud. "Do you even know what good Mexican food tastes like?"

There's the Sam she loved. "I've eaten in Texas," she said primly. Once. And was served barbecue brisket...but she wasn't about to mention that.

"Okay, that's acceptable."

"Good to know."

"Pick you up at seven?"

~*~

Their dinner two weeks ago had been fun, despite the rocky beginning. The food was good, and the company better. And Ainsley desperately missed Sam's company and his humor.

Despite her good intentions to get together with him more often, things had gotten busy, and she had been snowed under taking meetings with all kinds of committee chairs and other representatives—Republicans, of course. Democrats never seemed to want to cross the aisle. Except Sam. But he was probably in a similar situation and had to kow tow to the senior members of his party, as well.

Tonight, she was cold and tired, and wanted nothing more than a hot bath, some hot cocoa, and her warm bed.

Except that apparently wasn't going to happen. Her heart leapt at the sight of the Porsche at the curb. _Sam was here_. She hurried into the building.

To be continued...


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own The West Wing, Sam Seaborn, Ainsley Hayes, et al. I do, however, own Dan. I am making no money off this endeavor. The only thing I've earned is the pleasure that comes from writing and the possibility of some nice comments.

AN: Many thanks to ilovenascar, ldugan, and fc2001 for the beta reads. Any remaining errors are mine.

AN2: There is a reference to Sports Night in one of the five chapters of this story. Anyone who stumbles across it and sends me a Private Message with the correct reference will be entered into a drawing for a $5 online gift certificate for .

~*~

_From chapter one: Tonight, she was cold and tired, and wanted nothing more than a hot bath, some hot cocoa, and her warm bed._

_Except that apparently wasn't going to happen. Her heart leapt at the sight of the Porsche at the curb. _Sam was here_. She hurried into the building._

**Chapter Two**

"Oh, my gosh," she said heading toward him. "I'm so glad you're here. You can't know how ha—"

He turned around and she gasped. It wasn't Sam, it was Dan. Her stomach dropped. He hadn't said anything about a visit.

"Oh, my gosh—I saw the Porsche and I thought..."

"You thought what?" he asked and smiled.

Sam's car was black, Dan's was dark blue. In the shadows between the street lamps, they looked the same. She shook her head and smiled at him. It didn't matter. _Dan_ was here. "I thought that car looked familiar...and here you are."

"I've missed you," he said, enveloping her in a hug and lifting her off the ground as he did so. "I didn't think I'd get such an enthusiastic welcome. I know how you hate last minute plans and surprises."

He was warm and he smelled good, and she snuggled into his embrace. She kissed his cheek as he put her down. "How long are you here?" she asked, leading him to the wide wood staircase. "Where are you staying?"

"Just a couple of days—I came for a couple of interviews. One at Washington Hospital Center and another at Sibley Memorial Hospital. My internship will be over in another month, and since I'm planning on moving to D.C., I thought it was about time to formalize our relationship."

"Formalize?" she asked, reaching her door and unlocking it. Did he mean what she thought he meant? She took a deep breath. There had been times when she thought he'd be just as happy to go on like they were forever. Was he finally going to ask her to marry him? And why wasn't she more excited at the prospect?

She was cold and tired. That must be it. Once she had a chance to unwind—and had actually been proposed to—then she'd be happy. Her spirits lifted and she relaxed.

She hung up her overcoat and reached for his. Then she kicked her shoes into the hall closet and padded to the kitchen. "I'm going to make some cocoa. You want some coffee? Are you hungry?"

"Not really; not right now," he said, wandering around, his hands tucked in his pants pockets. "So you really like this dark color, huh?"

She stilled in mid-reach for the cocoa powder and glanced at him. "Why, yes; yes, I do." They'd had that conversation the day she'd moved in. He didn't care for the burgundy-colored paint. But she loved it and so had Sam.

"Okay." He wandered to the table and sat. "How's Congress?"

She smiled and took a seat. That certainly was a safer subject; less contentious and one she loved talking about. "It's great. I love it—it's great. I'm doing so many interesting things."

"I'm glad to hear it." He reached out and linked his fingers loosely through hers and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles.

"So tell me about these interviews," she said, glancing at their entwined fingers. That was new.

"Well, the one at Washington Hospital Center is for a surgeon, and since I'm just about to complete my internship as an ear, nose, and throat surgeon, I'd probably be a great match. That one's at nine am. At three, I'm interviewing for the Director of the Emergency Medicine Services department at Sibley."

"Wow. Okay. Do you have a preference?"

"Well, the director position would look better on my resume right now, but the surgeon's position would give me more time for us."

"Us?" She blinked, her heart beating hard. Was this it?

"Yeah. I...you know, I had a whole speech planned. I rehearsed it all the way up here, and I just...Oh, the hell with it. I finally realized that what we have is special. Really special. I don't want to lose it. I want to spend my time with you. All my time. My whole life."

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Wow, I'm really screwing this up. I'm trying to ask you to marry me." His pale blue eyes regarded her. "Will you...will you marry me, Ainsley?"

Oh, my gosh.... She covered her mouth with a hand. "Oh, Dan.... I'm...I'm..." Oh, my gosh, he actually—finally—asked her to marry him. "But you're only here for interviews...."

"Is that a no?" he asked, suddenly looking worried.

"No, of course not...." She shook her head. "You just caught me by surprise. I mean, you just got here."

"Well, I'm not suggesting we run off tomorrow and get married unless that's what you want." He reached across the table and took both her hands in his, looking earnest and very sweet. "Ainsley, we've been apart for long enough. I'm sorry about that. I should have made more of an effort to come up here over the last two months, but there's nothing I can do about that now. I just want us to be together for good."

Her heart melted. He was a good man. And she did love him. She'd always expected to marry him. She nodded. "Okay...yes."

He blinked, a smile forming. "Really?"

"Yes." _She was getting married_.

"I have a ring."

"Really?" she squeaked, excitement fluttering in her chest.

"Of course." He took the box out of his pocket and moved around the table and got down on one knee. He flipped open the lid and held the blue velvet box up to her.

Tears filled her eyes and then spilled down her cheeks. A large marquis diamond was flanked on either side by three narrow baguette diamonds, all set in a lovely platinum setting. It looked so perfect.

He slid it on her finger.

"Oh, Dan, it's beautiful." Ainsley held up her hand to admire it. But it drooped on her finger like a plastic ring around a soda bottle. "Oh..."

"I wasn't sure of your ring size," Dan said, frowning a bit. "We'll have to take it in so they can measure your finger and size it properly."

She patted his hand. "It's okay, it's still beautiful, and I love you."

They snuggled and talked on the sofa for over an hour until Dan finally said, "I gotta get to the hotel, Ainsley. I have to get up early."

The argument she'd had with Sam about letting Dan stay with her came to mind. She and Dan were engaged now—it was time she moved past that issue.

She pushed aside her aversion and pulled him close. "Why don't you stay here tonight?"

~*~

As soon as she could free herself for lunch the following day, Ainsley hurried from her third floor office in the Longworth House Office Building to the fifth floor where Sam's office was located. She could hardly wait to tell him her good news.

Everyone had _oohed_ and _aahed_ over her ring. She held her hand up and admired it again. It really was beautiful and must have cost Dan a fortune. She couldn't help the wide smile that wouldn't leave her face.

"What have we here?" Sam asked from behind her, and she jumped. "Why it's the lovely Ainsley Hayes, Republican Congresswoman from North Carolina."

Ainsley whirled around, tucking her left hand in her jacket pocket. She lifted her face as he leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Sam took hold of her elbow and led her into his small office. "To what do I owe this great pleasure?"

She took a seat in his visitor chair, and he sat on the front edge of his desk.

His bright blue eyes—eyes that reminded her of the sky on heartbreakingly beautiful days in North Carolina—reflected his delight at seeing her.

Now that that the time had come, she wasn't quite sure how to tell him. She nibbled on her bottom lip.

"What's up, Ains? Surely, you didn't come all this way to—"

She held up her hand and smiled. Not the ecstatic smile of overwhelming happiness. No, it was more of an apologetic smile, although, really and truly, she had nothing to be sorry for. Except for hurting Sam. He seemed to be harboring a thing for her.

His eyes flicked immediately to her hand and then widened. "Oh...he finally did it, huh?"

She nodded. His voice had lost its enthusiasm, and when he met her gaze, his eyes weren't quite as brilliant as they'd been only moments before. She saw the pain, and her heart hurt for him.

She clasped her hands in her lap and looked down at them to regain her own composure. She hated hurting him. Why he insisted on holding onto his feelings for her, she didn't understand. He knew this would happen. Her relationship with Dan had never been a secret. Even Sam himself had predicted a proposal. Well, damn him. He'd just have to deal with it. They were friends, and friends were happy for one another.

She looked back up at him, ready to give him what for, but he smiled widely at her. "It's a little big."

She nodded, glancing at her hand.

"Well, congratulations. Did you guys set a date?"

She shook her head. "No, not yet. He just came up from Charlotte last night. He's got a couple of interviews today. He asked last night."

"He just asked? Just like that?" Sam asked.

She heard the slight disapproval in his voice; saw it on his face. He was a romantic at heart, although he'd deny it all day long. When he finally found someone to propose to, he would go all out to do it.

"Yeah. He's got another month or so of his internship and then he'll be moving up here." She shifted in her seat, and looked out the small window up under the ceiling. "And in with me."

"Really?" he asked, understandably surprised.

She felt his gaze boring into her and met his eyes. With a confidence she didn't really feel, she said, "Yes."

Sam nodded. Okay. So that was that. But he wasn't going to lose her. Maybe he could even—he swallowed—make friends with the man. "So I'll actually get to meet this guy?"

"Yes, of course, you have to meet him. He's going to be my husband."

Sam didn't want to think of all that _that_ entailed. "Can I be in the wedding?" His heart skipped a beat. Did he really just ask that?

Her eyes lit up. He did just ask that. _Damn_.

"Of course. Although I imagine Dan will want his own friends as groomsmen," she said.

"Right. Then never mind...because I can't give you away."

"Oh, you couldn't; my daddy wou—"

The emotion in his voice finally registered and she looked at him. He was smiling, but his eyes were sad. Dammit, Sam.

"I was hoping you'd be my maid of honor," she said. "Please?"

She looked at him, her face full of expectation—how could he say no?

He groaned and said, "No chiffon or pastel colors."

Ainsley laughed. "Okay."

"Do I really have to wear a dress?" he asked, suddenly worried. "And do I have to be a _maid_ of honor?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, of course not. You can wear a tux. And we'll call you a gentleman of honor."

"Okay." He nodded, he liked it. And it fit all too well. If she only knew how much it hurt being so damned honorable.

"Would you have worn a dress if I'd asked?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"No!"

"Damn," she said, grinning.

"All of this is assuming he's good enough for you," Sam said. He made it sound like a joke, but he meant it. If there was even anything slightly fishy about this guy, he was saying something—honor be damned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I have to make sure he's good enough for you."

She looked at him. "He has to pass muster?" she asked incredulously.

"Yes. What kind of best friend would I be if I didn't make sure?" he asked.

"You think there's a chance he won't?"

Sam sighed. "No, I suppose not." Not really. The guy was a doctor, after all. And Ainsley had a pretty healthy sense of self-worth. If she had any qualms about Dan, he'd have been out of her life long ago.

She smiled. "Good. How about Friday after next? He's coming up for the weekend. Come over to my apartment, I'll make dinner."

"Sure."

"Great." She jumped up and pecked his cheek. "See you later." She dashed off.

He stared into the corridor after her, still feeling the warmth of her lips against his skin, and smelling the lingering scent of her lavender perfume.

~*~

Dan watched Ainsley cooking from his seat at the kitchen table. "Are you sure I can't help?" He felt useless. If he was going to live here, he should start acting like it.

"Daniel, the last time you helped me cook, I had to throw out half a chicken."

Okay, so he wasn't cut out to be a cook of any kind. He could make coffee and scrambled eggs and toast. "That's a valid point. There's nothing I can do?"

"You can—"

The doorbell rang.

"You can go let Sam in."

He sighed and got up to do as he was bid.

Dan pulled open the door and stared...so this was the infamous Sam.

Sam blinked, either he was surprised to see a man answering Ainsley's door—or he saw the same thing Dan did.

They eyed each other a moment, then Dan held his hand out. "Hi. I'm Dan."

Sam clasped Dan's hand and said, "Sam, Sam Seaborn."

"Ainsley's finishing dinner. Come on in." Dan stepped back to let the other man enter, and then followed him to the kitchen.

Ainsley looked up as they entered. She looked from one to the other and back, an odd expression crossing her face.

Yeah, Dan had seen the resemblance, too—as soon as he'd opened the door.

Sam moved to Ainsley, holding out the flowers. "These are for you," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Smells wonderful."

She lit up. Whether from the flowers, the kiss, the compliment, or all three, Dan couldn't fathom. _What the hell?_

"It's meatloaf and mashed potatoes," she told Sam, stirring the gravy. "Remember you said you missed your grandmother's home cooking?"

"I do," said Sam. "But you shouldn't have cooked for me, Ains. This is Dan's night. You should have cooked something he especially likes."

Well, score one for Sam, but Dan waited for the lecture...which, however, didn't seem to be forthcoming.

_Ains?_ She let Sam call her _Ains?_ The one time Dan had called her that, she went off on a polite tirade about how her name was Ainsley and could he please not shorten it to Ains. But evidently Sam was special. _He_ was allowed to call her Ains.

Dan leaned against the doorjamb, crossed his arms, and watched.

Sam rummaged around in the cabinet above the refrigerator and pulled out a vase. Then he moved to the sink and filled the vase with water. After that, he unwrapped the flowers, trimmed the stems, and put them in the vase.

Sam held it up. "Where do you want them?"

He must be gay. He didn't look it, but maybe he had to be careful. He hadn't so much as looked at Ainsley with anything other than friendship in his eyes. And how many straight men knew how to arrange flowers?

She beamed. "Oh, just put them on the coffee table for now. Thanks, Sam."

While Sam carried the flowers to the living room, Dan dug the bottle of wine he'd seen out of the fridge. He needed to play host, establish his presence here. Mark his territory, as it were. Make sure Sam knew to whom Ainsley belonged. Just in case.

"Would you like some wine?" Dan asked, holding up the bottle when Sam returned.

"Sure." Sam looked closely at the bottle. "Ainsley, you're still working on this bottle? You are such a lightweight."

Ainsley turned the stove off and started pouring gravy into a boat. "I told you I'm not a wine drinker."

"You bought her the wine?" Dan asked. Sam bought this wine?? Great; just freaking great. Dan wanted to bang his head against the wall.

But Sam had to be gay, right? Nothing to worry about, right? Right.

"We christened the apartment with it my first night here," Ainsley said, throwing a smile at Sam. "You know I don't do wine." She put the gravy and a salad on the table, and then grabbed the mashed potatoes. "Come; sit."

"I can't tell you how many bottles of wine people sent me as gifts when I worked at the White House," Sam said, taking a seat. "I happened to like this particular wine so I called the winery and ordered more."

"No one ever sends me wine," Ainsley said. She put the rest of the food on the table and sat down, accepting her glass from Dan.

"What do you get for gifts in North Carolina? Cigarettes?" quipped Sam with a grin.

She frowned at him. "I get fruit baskets sometimes. Mainly, I get lingerie."

"What?" Dan and Sam both said, looking askance.

She looked from one to the other. "What? Calm down. I don't keep it. I send it back with a, _um..._politely worded letter. Well, except for that one black lace teddy. I'd never seen anything like it, and it was just so..."

She looked from one to the other again and burst out laughing. "I'm just kidding, you guys. Oh, my gosh, you should see your faces."

Dan didn't think it was funny at all, but Sam was smiling. Dan relaxed a little. If Sam had any romantic feelings for her, surely he wouldn't find that funny.

"You should see some of the stuff Josh gets," Sam said, chuckling and shaking his head.

"Lord, what does he get?" Ainsley asked, dishing out mashed potatoes to each of them.

"After his confirmation, a woman from Kentucky sent him a horse." Sam looked at Dan. "Josh Lyman, my other best friend—he's the Secretary of Health and Human Services—for some reason, collects groupies. He got all manner of gifts when we worked at the White House, too. Always from women."

Dan just nodded. Other best friend? Only gay men had female best friends, right? And maybe this Josh Lyman was _more_ than just a best friend. Dan let out a breath. It appeared he had nothing to worry about.

"Ainsley's told me stories about him. About all of you," Dan said. He took a sip of the wine. It really was quite good. Sam had good taste, at least where wine was concerned.

She shrugged. "How many people have stories that begin _One day at the White House..._?"

Sam glanced at her with panic on his face, his brows lifted in question.

She patted his hand. "Not that one, sugar."

Hmm...Dan's brows rose in speculation.

Then she turned to Dan. "Did I tell you about the time I kicked Sam's ass on National TV?"

"_Ainsley..._" Sam groaned.

Dan shook his head, smiling, and relaxing further. "No, I don't think I've heard that one."

"Well, we'll save that one for another day," she said, sending Sam a wink. "For when I really need to embarrass you."

"Thank you, I think."

"Just think, now you'll have Congress stories, too," Dan said.

"Oh, no," Sam said with another good-natured groan.

Ainsley laughed. "Our kids will be so bored with government stories."

Dan chuckled, too. "Between the two of us they'll reject politics and medicine." Maybe, just maybe...he and Sam could become...acquaintances. For Ainsley. Maybe.

"Politics gets in your blood," she said.

"Maybe it'll be hereditary," Dan said, looking at her.

"You want congressperson babies?" she asked, her mirth fading.

"Only if they're yours."

Sam looked into his wineglass. Ainsley looked a bit embarrassed and took a bite of mashed potatoes.

What the heck caused him to say that? Dan had never wanted kids. He assumed Ainsley didn't want them either—she'd never said anything to indicate she did.

There were a few more moments of the awkward silence before Ainsley turned to Sam and said, "So what did you think of H.R. 791?" She rose and began clearing the table. "I thought it was so unconstitutional as to be laughable."

"Only with your Republican interpretation." Sam got up to help.

They seemed to have it under control so Dan remained seated and watched and listened.

"There isn't another interpretation." Ainsley pointed the gravy pot at him before running hot water into it.

"There's mine," Sam said, digging in the container cabinet and putting the leftovers away.

"Which is ignoring the whole second half if you don't think it's unconstitutional!"

"Ainsley—"

"It is, Sam."

"I think we're boring your fiancé." Sam inclined his head in Dan's direction. Sam didn't think listening to them hash out the finer points of a House resolution could be very exciting for the other man.

Ainsley looked at Dan. "Oh, Dan, I'm sorry." She kissed the top of his head. "When we get started, when just go off. Let me know when we lose you."

Dan put an arm around her waist and gave her a sideways hug. "Okay; sure."

"On that note, I should get going," Sam said. He was feeling a little uncomfortable, slightly overwhelmed, and just plain tired of being on his guard. He wanted to go home and decompress.

Ainsley looked disappointed. "There's dessert."

"I'm stuffed. Dinner was wonderful." Sam held out a hand to Dan. "Nice to finally meet you."

"Yeah, you too," Dan said.

It didn't sound like he really meant it, though. Sam couldn't necessarily blame the guy. He might be a little unsettled, too, if his fiancée was so close to a male friend.

"You okay?" Ainsley asked Sam, walking him to the door.

"Just tired. Long day, you know? Plus, I'm leaving for California on Sunday night, remember?" He was looking forward to warmer California weather, but not to being so far away from her. Not that he saw her all that much. But she was only a few blocks or three floors and half a building away.

"That's right—one week or two?"

"One, at this point. But I'll let you know if that changes." He shrugged into his coat.

"Call me before you leave tomorrow, 'kay?" she said, squeezing his arm.

"Yeah."

She stood up on tiptoes and pressed a kiss to Sam's cheek. "Bye."

~*~

Sam's week in California had turned into two. Partly because of a freak, very-late winter storm in the D.C. area and partly because he'd ended up with an opportunity to meet with a very generous contributor.

He sat in a booth at the Azela Coffee Shop on 18th Street. He'd only been back a couple of days, but he couldn't wait to see her. He didn't know what he was going to do once she and Dan were married. There would be no more random phone calls late at night or showing up at her apartment on a whim with a half-gallon of some odd flavor of chocolate ice cream and Fresca.

A few minutes after seven-thirty, Ainsley hurried into the coffee house. She looked around the dining area for him and waved when she spotted him. He rose at her approach.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," she said, leaning in to accept his kiss. She shrugged out of her suit jacket and slid into the booth, settling her purse and jacket on the seat next to her. "I hope you haven't been waiting for too long."

"Nope, I've only been here a few minutes."

Her hair was up in a loose chignon with curly tendrils framing her sweet face. The pale lavender of her dress shirt flattered her complexion quite nicely.

The waitress came by and took their order, and they exchanged pleasantries until their food was served.

"So what's up?" Sam asked. She'd been excited when he'd called and apparently had some good news to tell him. As if he didn't know what that might be.

"Well, we finally set a date—Saturday, June 2nd."

He nodded and forced a smile. "Oh...well; okay." Just less than seven weeks. And then she was lost to him forever. He pushed away the feeling of despair that threatened to consume him. She had a ring on her finger and a wedding date. It was time to get over her.

Easier said than done.

"I need help picking out my wedding dress." She stole a cherry tomato from his salad and popped it in her mouth.

"And you're asking me?" he asked. She was killing him. How was he supposed to get over her if she kept asking him do these things? And whose bright idea had it been for him to be the _gentleman_ of honor? He ignored the voice in the back of his brain that screamed: _yours_.

"Well, Dan's not supposed to see it. And you have great fashion sense."

"I'm not gay." This would be so much easier if he were. He shuddered at the thought. Okay, maybe not.

"I didn't say you were, but you still have great fashion sense."

He made a noise of protest into his water glass.

She looked at him with brows arced. "I bet you don't know the difference between Shetland lamb's wool and regular lamb's wool."

"Well, Shetland wool comes from the region in..." He frowned. "Okay."

She grinned. "See? Will you help me?"

"Fine" he said with a long-suffering sigh. He didn't know how much more he could take, though. Maybe agreeing to be in the wedding hadn't been such a great idea. Because watching her walk down the aisle, but not towards him, was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done.

She bounced in her seat, her eyes bright with excitement. "Thank you."

"I'm sure we'll find something what's-his-name will love," Sam said, unwrapping his silverware.

"I'm sure we will."

Sam sighed and picked at his salad.

"What's wrong?" Concern marred her features and she reached across the table and placed a hand on his arm.

He jumped a little, feeling as if he'd been burned. "Nothing."

"Don't give me that. And don't play the _I'm fine_ game. What's up?"

"Sometimes, it's really nothing."

"It doesn't sound like nothing." She held his gaze.

"How about: it's personal."

She frowned. "You can't tell me?"

"I really don't feel like talking about it; let's just eat and plan our dress shopping, okay?"

"Okay," she agreed, but still eyed him. "How's Saturday?"

"Saturday's fine—eleven?"

"Pick me up?" she asked.

"Sure." He nodded and put another bite in his mouth.

She smiled. "You're my best friend, you know that, right?"

He nodded. "And you're mine."

"I'm glad we're together again."

"Very soon, Ainsley, you're not going to need me anymore." He didn't know what he was going to do when that day came.

"I'll always need you, Sam," she assured him.

"No, you won't. You'll have him. He'll be the one you call when you run out of gas. He'll be the one you call when McKeon or Forbes is giving you a hard time. He'll be the one you go home to when you've had a horrible day." His voice dropped to a whisper.

"He's not you, Sam."

"He'll be your husband."

"But you'll still be my best friend."

"He's not enough?"

"Why does he have to be my entire life? I'll still have friends." She was exasperated; he could hear it in her voice.

"You shouldn't need me," he said.

"Why not?"

"What do I have that he doesn't?" Sam asked.

To be continued...


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I do not own The West Wing, Sam Seaborn, Ainsley Hayes, et al. I do, however, own Dan. I am making no money off this endeavor. The only thing I've earned is the pleasure that comes from writing and the possibility of some nice comments.

AN: Many thanks to ilovenascar, ldugan, and fc2001 for the beta reads. Any remaining errors are mine.

AN2: There is a reference to Sports Night in one of the five chapters of this story. Anyone who stumbles across it and sends me a Private Message with the correct reference will be entered into a drawing for a $5 online gift certificate for .

~*~

_From chapter two: "You shouldn't need me," he said._

"_Why not?"_

"_What do I have that he doesn't?" Sam asked._

**Chapter Three**

Without a second thought, she said, "Stories that start with _One day in the White House_..."

"Is that it?"

"I don't know. You're just..." She shrugged. "You're Sam. You understand me. You argue with me. You get my humor. I'm always going to need you."

"Well, then maybe you shouldn't marry him." Did that really just come out of his mouth?

Oh, yes; yes, it did.

Shock took over her face, and she dropped her fork. "I've never believed your spouse is supposed to be the be-all and end-all of your social life. If that's true, why bother making friends at all. Who says I have to bring him to the deserted island with me?"

"You wouldn't?" he asked. Late one night several years ago, they'd been punchy and had each made a list of people they'd take to a deserted island if they ever got sent to one. It was silly and didn't make much sense in the light of day, but it was now a long-standing joke between them.

"I'd take _you_. I figure we could kill the first week or two arguing about whose fault it is we were stuck there."

"Doesn't that tell you something about him, Ains?" _And about your feelings for me?_ Was she really that oblivious?

"It tells me we have separate lives."

"You could live the rest of your live without him if you had to. That's a bad way to start a marriage." He didn't want to contemplate living the rest of his life without her, even if she was married.

She looked at him. "I do love him, you know."

"Do you love him enough?" Sam asked, leaning toward her and giving her a hard look. "I'd want my _wife_ to be my deserted island person."

She was silent a long moment, and he saw hurt and something he couldn't name flash in her eyes. She looked away and rummaged around in her purse. Throwing a twenty-dollar bill on the table, she scooped up her jacket and her purse and scooted out of the booth. "I have to get home. I'll see you Saturday."

He glanced at the brownie à la mode, the ice cream melting. Just the way she liked it.

For the first time since he'd known her, she hadn't touched her dessert.

~*~

Saturday was cold and dreary and fit Sam's mood perfectly. He wished he were doing anything else but this. Even babysitting for Josh and Donna's twins would have been preferable.

He trudged upstairs to her apartment and knocked on the door.

Dan answered it, a not-so-pleased expression crossing his face.

"Oh, hey," Sam said, mustering as much niceness as he could. "I, uh, I'm here for Ainsley. Is she ready?"

Ainsley rushed out of the bedroom. "I'm coming." She grabbed her purse and a coat from the closet, kissed Dan and said, "I'll be back in a few hours."

"He didn't look real happy," Sam said on their way to the car. At this rate, he was never going to make friends with the guy. Although, he wasn't sure he could pull it off, anyway.

"Oh, we had an argument last night when he showed up unannounced. He wanted to surprise me, but you know I really hate those kinds of surprises. And he knows it, too."

Sam opened the car door for her and she slid into the leather seat. Sam _didn't_ know it. Every time he dropped by unannounced, she was always happy to see him. Of course, Sam usually brought food, so maybe that was it. But really―the guy was her fiancé.

The first bridal shop was only about fifteen minutes away, and they rode in silence. Ainsley was obviously pissed about Dan. Sam wasn't going to be able to say anything nice about either of their behavior so he opted to keep his own counsel.

When they entered the store, the saleslady came over and cooed, "Now, now. The groom's not supposed to―"

"He's not the groom," Ainsley said, her tone bordering on sharp. "He's just a friend. I'm Ainsley Hayes; I called earlier in the week?"

The woman heard it, too, and sniffed. "Oh, yes. I put aside some dresses in your size, please come with me."

Ainsley followed her, and Sam followed Ainsley.

"You may sit there," the saleslady said to Sam. He took a seat on the gold brocade-covered bench in a small circular room. Opposite the bench was a dais with four full-length mirrors mounted on the wall behind the platform so that the bride could see herself from every angle.

The women continued down a corridor to what Sam supposed was the actual changing room.

A moment later, Ainsley and the saleslady returned with a rolling rack filled with gowns in various shades of white.

Ainsley joined Sam on the bench and, one by one, the woman pulled dresses off the rack and described them. Some Ainsley vetoed on sight, some Sam did. In the end, there were five they both liked.

Ainsley and the saleslady went back into the dressing room to begin the tedious process of trying them on.

Sam twiddled his thumbs. What the heck was he doing in this place where, really, no man should be?

Then Ainsley stepped into the viewing room.

Sam's breath caught. She looked beautiful, even with her hair up in a messy ponytail and wearing minimal makeup.

She was wearing her favorite of the dresses; a sleeveless/strapless affair with a form-fitting lace bodice, a sweetheart neckline, and a short train.

"Wow," he whispered. Sam sure hoped Dan knew what a lucky man he really was.

She stepped onto the dais and twisted back and forth at the waist. "Good?"

"You look amazing."

"You don't think there's too much cleavage do you?" She looked down at her breasts.

"I'm trying not to stare at your chest, Ainsley," he teased with a wink, hoping to lighten her mood.

"Seriously?" she asked, suddenly looking worried. She turned and looked in the mirror. "'Cause I don't want it to be a spectacle―that all anyone is looking at are my boobs."

Sam rose and walked up behind her, meeting her gaze in the mirror. "Honey, it's lovely. There's not too much cleavage. The neckline is very modest."

She nodded and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

Sam moved back out of her line of sight and watched her. As she studied the dress and the way she looked in it, she began to glow. And the noose around his heart cinched a little bit tighter.

She pivoted to face him, her face alight like an angel's. "I really like it. I do. Actually, I love it. It fits almost perfectly, and it makes me feel like a princess. But aren't you supposed to try on a bunch of dresses? Not pick the first one you see?"

She looked at him expectantly. He was still her best friend _and_ the gentleman of honor. He swallowed. Hard. "Sometimes, when it's right, you know it. If you ignore that instinct because there might be better elsewhere, you end up with something less than perfect." _Or nothing at all..._

She held his gaze for a really long time. Then she turned for another look at herself in the mirrors. She nodded. "You're right." She turned to the saleslady. "This one."

Sam sighed and turned away, not wanting to look at her in her wedding dress any longer. He wandered back into the front of the store.

Several minutes later, Ainsley and the saleslady returned. Ainsley paid for the whole thing and set up an appointment for a fitting in a couple weeks. The wedding was in six.

The drive back to her apartment was quiet, too. If he said anything, it'd be to beg her to not go through with it. And that just wasn't honorable.

Ainsley leaned across the console and kissed him once he pulled to a stop in front of her building. "Thank you. I know wedding dress shopping wasn't high on your list of fun things to do, but I really appreciate it. Let me know how much it'll cost to get your tux cleaned and tailored. I want to pay for it." It was the least she could do in exchange for his trouble.

He nodded and she got out of the car. Now it was time to go face Dan and put this argument to bed. Not an easy task, to be sure, but he deserved better from her.

Ainsley let herself into the apartment. Dan was sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, reading the _New York Times_.

"So where'd you two hightail it off to?" Dan asked from behind the newspaper. He didn't sound very happy.

Ainsley hung her coat up. "We went shopping for wedding dresses―and I found one. I can't wait for you to see me in it." She tried to sound pleasant, excited even, but this undeclared war on Sam was getting tiresome.

"You took _him_ with you?" he asked, finally dropping the paper and eyeballing her.

She took a deep breath. She didn't want to escalate this. Didn't want to fight with him anymore. Tamping down her own annoyance, she asked, "He has a name, as you well know. And whom else would I take?"

"A girlfriend, maybe?"

"Well, Sam's my best friend and my gentleman of honor."

Throwing the paper aside, Dan laughed suddenly. A mirthless bark of a laugh. "God, he's gotta be gay. Gentleman of honor? Seriously?"

Ainsley puffed up on Sam's behalf. "He most certainly is _not_ gay," she practically roared.

Dan's brow rose. "Really, well you could have fooled me. He's such a pretty boy. All those tailored suits, manicures, that styled hair."

"That was totally uncalled for. He's a state representative. He has a certain image to convey." Tears prickling her eyes, Ainsley asked, "Besides, what'd he ever do to you?"

Dan deflated. "Nothing, Ainsley. Not a damn thing."

"Then what's the problem?" she asked quietly.

"You really don't see it?"

"I see you making a big fuss over nothing. Sam is my friend. That's all he's ever been. In all the years we've known each other, we've never spent a night in the same room, or under the same roof, for that matter. So, no, I don't see what's got you so upset."

Dan sighed and ran both hands through his dirty blond hair. "You know what―forget it. I guess if you don't see it, then I just don't know. Why the hell are you marrying me, Ainsley?"

"What? What are you saying? Because I love you, Dan. Because you love me. Because you asked me. Don't you want to marry me?"

"Yes, of course I want to marry you, Ainsley."

"Then what are we fighting about?" Ainsley rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck. Looking up into his tired face, she asked, "Is it about last night? 'Cause if it is, I'm sorry. So sorry. You can't know how sorry I am. "

Dan finally wrapped his arms around her, and then rested his forehead against hers. "I just feel out of sorts. I'm trying to finish up this internship and trying to get packed and moved. I'll be starting a new job. I guess I'm just stressed and worrying about everything."

Ainsley held on tight. "Oh, Dan, it's going to be okay. Just another week and you'll be here. And then another month or so and we'll be married. And then everything will settle down, and it'll be fine."

~*~

Ainsley swept the pile of fake flowers to the floor. The wedding was four weeks out, and she was tired of trying to decide what looked good, what smelled good, and what would please everyone―everyone being her mother and Dan. At this point, she just didn't care. She had a gorgeous dress and a fabulous menu. Who cared about flowers?

Her mother and Dan and probably the guests. And the wedding planner needed to know by tomorrow so that they could be ordered and arranged in time for the wedding. Ainsley needed a second, unbiased opinion. One that would not be swayed by Southern belle control freak mothers and stressed-out fiancés.

Fifteen minutes later, she knocked on Sam's door.

He pulled it open, but instead of inviting her in, he stood there like a sentry.

"I need help," she said.

"With what," he asked, almost curtly, without moving.

Sam looked at her. She stood there in her old ratty blue terry cloth robe, fuzzy pink slippers, and a box of fake flowers clutched against her chest. Her hair was piled on her head in a haphazard heap, and she wore a panic stricken look.

"I need to pick flowers for the wedding. Dan had an emergency at the hospital, and I have no idea when he'll be home. I'm meeting with the planner tomorrow morning, and I just can't decide if I like the lilies or the roses or the irises."

"It's nine-thirty on a Friday night, how do you know I don't have company," he asked. If he had to get over her, then she was going to have to stop showing up unannounced.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, of course. Do you? I'm so sorry. I really am." She backed up, her panic turning to chagrin. "I'll go. I'm sorry. I'll figure something out, then." She turned to go.

_Dammit_. He sighed and stepped back. "I don't have company; come in."

She smiled, her eyes lighting up as she entered. "Oh, thank you, Sam. It'll really only take a minute."

"Sure." He waved her into the living room.

She dumped the box of flowers on his coffee table and kneeled next to it. "Now, I was thinking of red roses for my bouquet and white for the bridesmaids. But I need the centerpieces. I don't want there to be too much red."

"I really don't know anything about flowers." Sam perched on the sofa. He so didn't want to do this.

"Well, you know what smells good and what looks good together."

"You've made all your other decisions without me." He wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. Partly left out, but also relieved. The dress shopping had been torture. And the wedding itself was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever been through.

She glanced up. "I didn't think you'd have an opinion on the bridesmaid dresses. And the menu is kind of my forte."

He nodded. "What's-his-name doesn't care about flowers?"

"I told you, he had an emergency." She placed a couple of flowers together and studied them.

"I guess it's always gonna be like that, huh?"

"Like what?" She looked up at him, all innocent blue-gray eyes.

"Emergencies. The kids will love it when it happens at Christmas. Good thing he's not an ER doctor or an OB/GYN."

She threw the flowers down and dropped her head in her hands. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Put him down all the time. You won't even call him by his name. Are you trying to sabotage this or something?"

Was he? Good question. Not that he'd admit it if he were. "Of course not."

"It sounds like it sometimes." She sighed

"I think he's wrong for you, Ains."

"Why?"

"Because you're here. Because you'd take me to a deserted island and not him. Doesn't that tell you something?"

"No! It doesn't." She jumped to her feet. "If it did, I wouldn't be marrying him."

"You shouldn't be!" He rose, too.

"Tell me why not."

"Because...because..." He shook his head. Where were his words when he needed them? He reached out and cupped her face. Her eyes went wide, but she didn't fight him. He leaned in oh-so-slowly and covered her mouth with his.

She stiffened and curved her hands over his forearms as if to pull his hands away, but he feathered his lips against hers and her eyes fluttered shut. She relaxed into him. Her sigh echoed through his whole body when he deepened the kiss. She surged against him, her grip tightening on his arms, and then kissed him back for all she was worth.

After what seemed like forever and a micro-second at the same time, she whimpered and pulled away. Her eyes were wide; wonder, disbelief, anger, hurt, all flashed through them.

"That's why," he whispered.

She took a step back. "Why did you―dammit, Sam."

"Don't marry him," he said, his voice hoarse; his heart crackling like safety glass. One touch and it'd fall to pieces at his feet.

Her lower lip shook. "Why didn't you do this before? Why now?"

"I didn't realize how much seeing you with someone else would hurt. I didn't realize I loved you that much. And then I've been trying to just let you be happy, but..."

She covered her eyes with a hand. "I don't believe this. I just...can't believe this."

"What?"

"You just...you do this _now_? When I finally have my life in order? Do you know how long I wanted you and you never said anything, and I've finally fallen in love with someone else, and you do this."

"You haven't fallen in love with someone else! Have you taken a good look at him, Ainsley? He's me with blonde hair and an MD. We talk the same, we dress the same, we spout the same useless trivia. We even drive the same damn car!"

"That's not true," she said, shaking her head. Tears pooled on her lower lids.

"It is true! You call him Daniel when you're pissed at him, don't you? And you add six As to the middle of his name when you're exasperated or teasing?"

"Your names are similar phonetically? That's your evidence?"

"You're missing the point."

She knelt down and grabbed her silk flowers, tossing them into the box. "I don't care what the point is."

"You kissed me back. You liked it. You wanted me―you wanted more."

She held the box in front of her like a shield. "I told you I wanted you for years."

"You never said so."

"Neither did you."

"By the time I realized how I felt, you were involved. I was just waiting for it to end with him...but it didn't."

"Two years, Sam. _Two years_. I've had fights with him. I've almost broken up with him twice. None of these times were right to let me know that if I did break up with him I wouldn't be alone?"

"You think I wanted to be your rebound?"

"I really don't know what I think anymore." She pressed the heel of one hand against her eye.

"I didn't want you to be with me because you were single or lonely or...oh, the hell with it. I love you, Ainsley. I've loved you for more than a year now."

She backed toward the door. "I have to go."

"Don't," he said softly.

"Sam...no matter what I...I'm engaged," she whispered. "I'm getting married."

He closed his eyes and hung his head. "Right."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"So am I."

"Good-bye, Sam." She grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open.

"Ainsley, _wait_."

She turned to look at him.

"Stay. We still have to pick out flowers." He forced a small smile onto his face. She would never know how much those words cost him.

"Sam..." Her voice trembled.

He came and took the box. "Come on, I have a good eye for color."

"You don't have to."

"I'm still your gentleman of honor, aren't I?" He swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall. "I want you to be happy. I'm sorry I dropped this on you. Please...let me, at least, do this?"

She took a deep breath. "Okay."

He tugged her to the kitchen and spread out her samples on the table. He took a deep breath―he could do this. He cleared his throat. "I agree with you about the red. You don't want it to look like some bad Valentine's Day dance. Which rules out pink, too."

She sank into a chair next to him. "I liked the lilies," she said. "But my mother said they're for funerals. Carnations are so plain. I'm leaning toward exotics."

He shook his head. "No carnations. I don't like them. If you want to take the edge off the formality, you could try Gerber daisies. You know, the big colorful ones. Then you could actually get some red in there without the valentine feel."

He picked up the three tulips. "They never do these justice...how about tulips? They're elegant or casual, depending on how you dress them."

"Dan suggested tulips," she said quietly, not looking at Sam directly.

"Well, there you go," Sam offered with forced brightness. "You could carry a dozen red tulips tied with a white ribbon. The bridesmaids could carry a single white tulip, or maybe three of them."

She nodded and jotted down a few notes. "Okay. What about centerpieces?"

Sam thought for a moment. "What about potted tulips? You could stay with the white, or you could do different colors on different tables." He snapped his fingers. "No―I know. I saw this at a wedding a couple of years ago. It was a slightly Asian theme, be we could adapt it. Any way, they had these simple but lovely bamboo shoots in wide-mouthed clear vases. They were held in place with pale green stones.

"You could stay with the white tulips, use the clear vases, and anchor them with ruby colored stones, which will also camouflage the bulbs."

"That's perfect," she said softly. "And it'll please Dan. Thank you."

Sam's heart felt like it was going to burst. He had to get her out of there. "You're welcome. You all set now?"

Ainsley nodded, gathering up her fake flowers once again.

"Drive safe, okay?"

"I will. Good night."

"Good night. Tell Dan he'd better take care of you."

She swallowed. "I will." She hugged her box to her chest and walked out.

He sat there, staring at the closed door until something inside him gave way and then he slumped to the floor and let the tears fall.

~*~

Ainsley was still in a daze when she got home to find Dan in the kitchen. She'd spent the whole drive home reliving that mind-blowing, earth-shattering kiss. She put her box of flowers on the counter and sat at the kitchen table. "Hi," she said quietly.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, slapping sandwich fixings on the counter.

"Sam's. He helped me with the flower samples." And kissed the life out of me. She pressed her fingertips to her lips. She still felt the pressure and the heat, smelled his cologne...felt the pounding of his heart, the taste of mint toothpaste.

"Oh, well, why wouldn't you be at Sam's...?"

She glanced up at him. "It's not like I'm over there all the time. And the wedding planner needs to know about the flowers by tomorrow and you were out. I wanted a second opinion."

"Is it going to be like this when we're married?"

"I thought we settled the Sam issue," she said, as calmly as she could. Dan was already upset and she wasn't sure where it was coming from; she didn't want to add unnecessary fuel to the fire. "He agreed with you about the tulips, actually."

"Is that so?" He slammed the refrigerator door shut and whirled around. "So because Sam has given his seal of approval, then tulips are now just fine with you?"

Something in his tone caught her attention. She closed her eyes and considered everything she now knew, and several other things suddenly clicked into place. With a deep breath she said, "I don't know if I can marry you anymore."

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I can't marry you. I'm sorry." She hung her head. She hated what she was doing.

"Why not? Because of him?"

She swallowed hard. "You're not the person I'd bring to the deserted island." She looked at him.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"I don't love you as much as you deserve."

"Is this because of him?"

To be continued...


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own The West Wing, Sam Seaborn, Ainsley Hayes, et al. I do, however, own Dan. I am making no money off this endeavor. The only thing I've earned is the pleasure that comes from writing and the possibility of some nice comments.

AN: Many thanks to ilovenascar, ldugan, and fc2001 for the beta reads. Any remaining errors are mine.

AN2: There is a reference to Sports Night in one of the five chapters of this story. Anyone who stumbles across it and sends me a Private Message with the correct reference will be entered into a drawing for a $5 online gift certificate for .

~*~

_From chapter three: She swallowed hard. "You're not the person I'd bring to the deserted island." She looked at him._

"_What the hell are you talking about?"_

"_I don't love you as much as you deserve."_

"_Is this because of him?"_

**Chapter Four**

"Yes," she whispered, shame heating her face. It was hurtful and horrible, and she hated herself. But she'd hate herself more, and she'd probably end up hating Dan, too, if she went through with it.

Dan turned away. "I should have known," he said, banging his fists against the wall.

Ainsley jumped. "I'm sorry. I truly am. I didn't reali―"

"The hell you're sorry," he exclaimed. "You just came home to dump me so you can go back over _there_."

She shook her head back and forth several times. "No, no, no...I didn't. As far as Sam knows, you and I are still getting married. I don't even know if I'm welcome over there anymore. But I know I don't love you the way I'm supposed to love my husband."

"It would have been nice if you'd said this before I uprooted my whole goddamn life for you. Barely a week ago, Ainsley. A fucking _week_."

She flinched at his language. She probably deserved it, and the least she could do was take whatever he needed to dish out. "I didn't know," she said softly. She'd been such a fool.

"I should have known when I met him. I had a bad feeling. But, you know, stupid me, I thought I could trust you. Convinced myself he was gay—that there really was nothing but friendship between you."

"There wasn't, I swear." She covered her face with her hands. "I'm sorry, Dan. You don't know how sorry I am."

"You know, you sure are sorry an awful lot. Isn't that what you said the day you found your dress? You were sorry then, too. I'm beginning to think you would have made one sorry wife."

Ainsley winced, not only at the words, but the venom in his voice. How had she never seen this side of him? She could never imagine Sam speaking this way to her or any one else, no matter how hurt or angry he might have been.

"If there was any way to go back..." she said. But go back to when? Back before Sam's kiss? Before Dan's proposal? She just couldn't pretend any longer. Couldn't pretend Sam didn't have feelings for her and couldn't pretend she didn't know about them. Or returned them...

"Thanks. It's so nice you at least tried to pretend," Dan said sarcastically.

Her gaze shot to Dan's. Had she said that aloud? "That's not what I meant."

"You don't fall in love with someone in one night. So you're either a liar or you're stupid. I don't know which is worse."

She swallowed. "It's the second one, if you care." She was trembling now, a ball of cold settling in the pit of her stomach.

He turned away, apparently not wanting to look at her any more if the disgust on his face was anything to go by.

It was time to end this. She got up. "I'm going to go to a hotel."

"_Right_," he said with a snort of derision.

She stiffened and looked at him, and a burst of anger, irrational as it was, flared through her. She strode past him to the bedroom, and grabbed her overnight bag from the closet, throwing her toiletries into it.

"It'll take me a while to clear out," he said from the doorway, his gaze boring into her.

She nodded. "I understand. Take as long as you need," she said as evenly as she could. She didn't want to prolong this or exacerbate it.

"Gee, thanks." He moved into the room and held out a hand. "The ring?"

She pulled it off and tossed it at him with more force than she intended. She missed his hand, and the ring bounced at his feet with a tinny _plink_.

He picked it up off the floor. "What—are you the injured party now? You're leaving me."

God, he was being such an ass. How had she never seen this before? She shoved a change of clothes into her bag. "I'm just angry...I don't know why."

"You're angry? Right―because you won't have two men fighting over you anymore. That must be really hard to handle."

Oh, if he only knew there was a line of men waiting for her to bat her lashes at them, if that's what she really wanted. "It was never about that," she said.

"So what happened tonight?" he sneered.

Aside from being woken up from the haze she'd been walking around in for the past six months or more? "I just...I realized some things I should have known a long time ago." She zipped her bag. "Let's leave it at that."

"He told you he wanted you and, suddenly, you didn't need your spare anymore?"

Her gaze shot to his.

"Oh, yeah, I noticed."

That was the way it seemed, although nothing could be farther from the truth, so she didn't say anything. She wouldn't be able to convince him, so why waste the effort.

He laughed again, a harsh ugly sound. "That's exactly what happened. Did you screw him, _Ains_?"

"Do you really think so little of me?" Although the depth of the kiss _had_ thrown her for a loop.

"At this point, I don't know what to think. Maybe this was all an elaborate plan to make him fall in love with you and screw me over!" he yelled.

"Yeah, Dan, that was it," she said, raising her voice, too. "You figured it all out. I went over there asking for help picking out flowers. He told me he loved me and that was it. I tore my clothes off and dragged him to bed." She looked at him, bitterness and animosity towards him filling her. "And all this time you were just a stand-in."

He recoiled, hurt and anger glittering in his eyes. "Fuck you."

Just as suddenly as it appeared, her anger left her. "Yeah," she said softly, hot tears prickling her eyes. She'd be damned if she was going to cry in front of him, though. Picking up her bag and her purse, she walked out.

She could barely hold back the sobs by the time she reached her car, and she wept for a full ten minutes before she calmed down enough to drive. She ended up at the lovely little Best Western Hotel not far from her apartment.

The woman behind the desk took note of Ainsley's tear stained face and shuddering breaths and gave her a room without a word.

Once in the third floor room, she dropped her bag and purse to the floor and then stumbled to the bed.

She pulled a fluffy pillow into her arms and curled up around it, the pillowcase cool against her overheated face. The ugly scene with Dan played over in her head, and she cried for Dan. Despite his behavior, he was hurting, and she was the cause.

She cried more hot angry tears at herself. How could she have been so blind or so cruel? Poor Dan.

And poor Sam. Where was Sam? She needed Sam...

Backhanding tears off her face, Ainsley fished her cell phone from her purse. She pressed _1_, then _send_.

Oh, no...Sam was number one on her speed dial. Had been for over five years. And where was Dan...? Number five. She started crying again. What had she done?

"Seaborn," his voice, uncharacteristically hoarse, growled into the phone.

She couldn't speak, so she just cried into the receiver.

Sam was instantly awake. "Ainsley, is that you? What's wrong? Are you okay?"

No words would come, only sobs.

"Ainsley, honey, _talk to me_. Are you okay?"

"S-sam."

"Are you safe?" he demanded, now frantic. "Yes or no."

"Y-y-yes."

He let out a breath. "Okay. I'll come over."

"No-o, you ca-a-an't."

"Why not?"

She sniffled and took a deep breath. "I-I'm at a, at a h-hotel."

"Where? I'll come get you."

"You s-shouldn't. It'd be bad if someone saw us."

"Ainsley, I could give a rat's ass if someone sees us. I'll call up the Washington Post myself. Now, where the hell are you?"

"The B-best W-western on New H-hampshire."

"I'll be there in fifteen minutes." The line went dead and her heart leapt. And then dropped just as quickly.

What was wrong with her? She'd just broken one man's heart and most certainly wounded his pride, and here she was racing into another man's arms.

She looked at her cell phone and then snapped it shut. Oh, the hell with it; she'd worry about it later. _Sam was coming for her_.

Stumbling into the bathroom, she moistened a washcloth with cold water and pressed it to her flushed and puffy face. She looked awful, but there was little she could do about it at the moment. The cool wet cloth felt heavenly against her tight skin. Braving a look at herself, she cringed at the tangled mess of her hair, but didn't bother with a hairbrush.

Grabbing her bag and purse, she went back down to the lobby. Just as she slid the key card across the counter to a very confused desk clerk, the automatic doors swished open and Sam rushed in.

"Ainsley," he called, spotting her and hurrying toward her.

The clerk smiled in sweet amusement.

Sam's hair stuck up in all directions. His pale blue dress shirt was terribly wrinkled and buttoned wrong, and the sleeves were rolled up haphazardly. With it, he wore khaki cargo shorts that were just as wrinkled and a pair of flip-flops. He'd never looked more beautiful to her.

She fell into his arms when he reached her. "Sam." The mingled scents of laundry starch and cologne surrounded her. She was _home_.

He hugged her tight for a long time, mumbling who knows what into her hair. All she heard was a low rumbling sound through his chest. He finally released her and took her bag.

With an arm around her waist, he escorted her out the door to his Porsche, which was parked under the hotel's small awning. Opening the passenger door, he tossed her bag into the small space behind the seats and then stepped back to help her in.

"What's this?" she asked, reaching for the items in her seat. She held up a box of tissues and a pint of rocky road ice cream. "Oh, Sam..."

The tears started falling again as she sank into the leather upholstery. What had she done to deserve this? To deserve him? How much heartbreak had he endured because of her?

The signs were there; he'd even made overtures and tried to open her eyes about Dan. But she'd continued on her merry way, ignoring _both_ men's attempts at dealing with issues she refused to acknowledge.

Sam jogged around the car and slid into the driver's seat. He touched her hair gently, and in the ambient light from the exterior hotel lamps, she now saw that his eyes were also red-rimmed. Her heart constricted.

She'd obviously wounded him badly and still he'd helped her pick out flowers. She'd called him the middle of the night, and he'd come with her favorite ice cream. No anger, no questions asked. That she'd brought this beautiful, good man to tears hurt terribly.

Sam started the car and pulled into the night, producing a spoon from a small cubbyhole to the left of the steering wheel and handing it to her.

Fifteen minutes later, they were parked on the street in front of his apartment. She hugged the ice cream to her chest, the spoon clutched in her hand. She'd been crying too hard to eat. "I sh-shouldn't have c-called you," she said. "I don't d-deserve you."

Reaching across the car, he caressed her cheek with his thumb. "Don't worry about who deserves whom. I imagine Dan thinks we deserve each other for the way he's been treated." And Sam was truly sorry about that. He'd put Ainsley in a horrible position, and Dan had paid the price.

She sniffled, blinked back the tears, and took a deep breath. In a little voice, she asked, "Are you mad at me?"

"No. Why would I be mad at you?"

"Because of earlier—or rather, last night." Ainsley pulled a wad of tissues from the box and mopped her face.

"Again, why would I be mad at you? If anything, you should be mad at me."

"I'm really sorry..." she insisted.

"For what?"

"For everything. For not acknowledging your feelings. For not acknowledging my own feelings...for hurting you."

Sam sighed. "Ainsley, my feelings were not your responsibility. I fell in love with you _after_ you already had a boyfriend. Now, what kind of stupid idiot does that?"

"A sweet one. But I still don't deserve you. I've never done anything good for you, and I  
f-finally realize I love you, and I expect you to come running as soon as I call. I shouldn't have called you."

"Yes, you should have. You can always―wait..." A smile broke over his face. _She loved him?_ "You love me?"

She nodded. "Of course, I do. How I convinced myself otherwise, I'll never know."

"That's the only thing in this world I need. And I'd follow you to the ends of the earth if I had to."

Ainsley melted again.

"Let's go inside now, huh?"

In his apartment, he put the ice cream back in the freezer and returned to the living room. He found her curled up on one end of the couch, dabbing her eyes with the tissues.

He really hated to see her cry, but he'd set this whole thing in motion with his ill-timed declaration of love. But he wasn't sorry he'd told her. And he wasn't sorry she was there. He was sorry about the timing―that Dan had suffered in more ways than one because of Sam. But there was no way to undo anything and probably no way to ever make up for it.

He sat on the floor beside her, his back against the front of the arm of the couch. "I was engaged once, a long time ago." A lifetime ago, and yet the hurt could and did return upon occasion to remind him that love, like children, needed attention and affection to bloom and grow. A lesson he never planned to forget.

"Lisa?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He nodded. "We were both caught up in our careers. We both forgot what was important. And we both lost sight of each other. Me more than her, I'm ashamed to say. And then Josh came, and it was an easy out. Sometimes it just isn't meant to be. And it's not always just one person's doing."

"He knew. He knew and I didn't," she said softly. "What kind of idiot does that make me?"

"It doesn't make you an idiot. It just makes you...focused. You were focused on the relationship you were supposed to be focused on. How does that make you a bad person?"

"It doesn't, I guess, if you put it that way." She sighed. "But think of all that time wasted because I—"

He pivoted on his butt and placed a finger against her lips. "Shh...I refuse to see it as time wasted. I choose to believe that things happen when they happen for a reason." Removing his fingers, he leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "I prefer to believe this all came about now because this is when it was ordained to happen."

Her face softened into a gentle smile, and she ran her fingers gently along the curve of his face. "Yes, you're right."

Leaning in, he pressed another tender kiss to her lips. She shivered and kissed him back. After only a moment he pulled away.

She looked faintly disappointed, weaving her fingers in his hair and holding his mouth to hers.

He rested his forehead against hers and said, "Making love tonight's probably not the best idea, Ainsley."

She sighed and released his hair. "Of course, you're right again. What kind of _ho_ would that make me?"

He chuckled. "It's not that. It's just that after all these years, I don't want our first time to be when we're both tired and wrung out. How about we just go to bed and sleep? We do have the rest of our lives."

She nodded and pushed herself to a sitting position. "Okay."

Sam tugged her to her feet and, grabbing her bag, led her into the bedroom.

"Sam...this is just lovely," she said. Her gaze came to rest on the four-poster bed. "Oh..."

Its mahogany finish was dark and lustrous against the 'soft blueberry'-colored walls. Midnight blue sheers shot through with silver threads draped the canopy frame, creating an exotic and intimate setting.

"It's fit for a queen or a harem―I'm not sure which."

"Well, not a harem," said Sam. "I, ah...always pictured you here, creamy white skin and blonde hair against the dark sheets." He swallowed and lightly cleared his throat. Should he have said that?

"Really?" she whispered, her face softening, but her eyes igniting. She came and looped her arms around his neck. "At some point, we'll have to see what we can do about turning that picture into reality..."

Sam smiled and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. "That'd be nice. But right now, sleep. I don't know about you, but I'm suddenly exhausted. We've both been on a pretty wild emotional roller coaster. And as much as I've fantasized about you in my bed, I just don't think I'd be at my best right now." Disentangling her arms from his neck, he turned her in the direction of the bathroom, and patted her bottom. "Now scoot."

"You fantasized about me in your bed?"

"More than was wise or appropriate," he said seriously. He pointed toward the bathroom again. "Go."

Plucking her bag from the floor where she'd dropped it a few minutes ago, Ainsley disappeared into the bathroom.

"For the love of Mike, Sam, this is incredible" she called.

Sam smiled again―or maybe he was still smiling. She was here and she wasn't marrying Dan.

"The tub is incredible," she said.

He'd had her in mind while redecorating the bathroom, too. Thank goodness he had his own personal wealth, such as it was, to draw on; and a very lenient apartment manager and building owner. "We can explore the wonders of the bath tomorrow, too. Hurry up so we can crash."

He shucked off his shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, tugged on pajama bottoms and then prepared the bed. He heard the rustle of clothing and then running water and tooth brushing. Ainsley emerged a moment later, her face bright and her flaxen hair flowing down her back. He groaned. The modest camisole and sleep shorts really did nothing to hide her most feminine assets. Despite his exhaustion, his body stirred at the sight of her.

She looked at the bed, which was raised eighteen inches off the floor. "How am I supposed to get into that?"

With a flourish, Sam reached under the bed and drew forward a small wooden step stool in the same mahogany finish as the bed. Offering a slight bow and extending his arm in the direction of the bed, he said, "Milady..."

She climbed up with all the grace of a dancer and got herself situated. He followed and snuggled in behind her, pulling her close. Sheer bliss and pure heaven. He could sleep like this forever.

"Your sheets are soft," she whispered.

"Three-hundred-twelve thread count."

She chuckled. "Of course."

"Hey, if I was going to go with this harem theme, I had to go all out, you know."

"Thank you for everything." She sighed and settled into the curve of his body. "Goodnight, Sam."

"You are most welcome," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "Ainsley?"

"Hmm?" she replied, already sounding sleepy.

"There's something I've been dying to know since your first night in D.C."

"What's that?"

"What's your tattoo of?" Sam asked.

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own The West Wing, Sam Seaborn, Ainsley Hayes, et al. I do, however, own Dan. I am making no money off this endeavor. The only thing I've earned is the pleasure that comes from writing and the possibility of some nice comments.

AN: Many thanks to ilovenascar, ldugan, and fc2001 for the beta reads. Any remaining errors are mine.

AN2: There is a reference to Sports Night in one of the five chapters of this story. Anyone who stumbles across it and sends me a Private Message with the correct reference will be entered into a drawing for a $5 online gift certificate for .

~*~

_From chapter four: "There's something I've been dying to know since your first night in D.C."_

"_What's that?"_

_What's your tattoo of?" Sam asked._

**Chapter Five**

That tiny peek of whatever it was had piqued his curiosity since that first night. On rare occasions he had allowed himself to speculate about what it might be. But only rarely because his imagination tended to run really wild and generally left him with a raging erection and no way to assuage his need.

"If I have to wait to make love with you, I guess you'll just have to wait to find out."

Sam chuckled. "Fair enough."

~*~

Ainsley awoke the next morning crushed against Sam; her face was mashed into his side, just below his armpit, and their legs were tangled together. Somehow they'd managed to wrap themselves up together in the sheets like twin pupa in a 312-thread count cocoon.

She smiled in her half-awake state and snuggled closer.

"Good morning, beautiful," he whispered as he ran his fingers through her tangled hair.

She propped herself up on an elbow and looked at him. He wasn't so bad first thing in the morning himself. Even early-morning stubble looked good on the man.

"Hi," she said softly, enjoying the warmth and the weight of him next to her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his blue eyes soft.

"Much better." Never better, actually. Waking up next to Dan had never been so glorious―not even in the beginning when they first began spending nights together.

"Good."

"How do you feel?" she asked, untangling and rearranging herself so that she was flush against his side, her head resting at the juncture of his shoulder, and her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his smooth chest.

"Are you still mine?"

"I'm yours, now and forever," she said with a sigh of satisfaction. It was forever. There was this fullness in her heart, in her soul, that she'd never felt before.

"Then I'm wonderful," he said, lifting her hand to his lips and kissing each of her fingertips and then her palm.

A frisson of desire raced through her. And her stomach grumbled. She groaned.

Sam laughed. "That's my girl. You want to get some breakfast?"

For the first time in a really long time, the man in her bed was a bigger draw than a full stomach. Except her stomach growled again, and she really hated feeling so hungry. "Hmm. Food or you..." Maybe if she distracted herself...

"Knowing you, it's an honor that you're torn."

"You have no idea." Trailing hot open-mouthed kisses down his chest, she smiled at his intake of breath. She made her way down his very sexy, very tanned body, pushing the covers down and off the bed as she went.

Desire darkened his blue eyes. Want dried her mouth, and a wave of need coursed through her at the sight of him watching her...wanting her.

A low groan rumbled through him when her tongue dipped into his navel. Heat and moisture pooled inside her sex.

Slipping her fingers inside the waistband of the thin cotton pajama bottoms and his boxers, she started tugging, easing the elastic over his growing erection. He helped by lifting his butt high enough for her to pull the clothing out from under him. Then she pulled them completely off. Well, well, he wasn't tanned all over. And that pleased her.

She sat up on her knees and perused his body. Heat licked up her face. She'd never seen a totally naked man before―not one on his way to full arousal and in the bright light of day, much less actually studied one. "You're gorgeous, you know that?" she asked.

"What am I supposed to say to that, Ainsley?" he asked, almost bashfully.

"The truth."

"Okay." Sam nodded. "Women have told me that before, but..." He shrugged.

"It's true; it really is."

"Thank you," he whispered.

She continued to survey him; her eyes traveling the length of him and back, a shy smile hovering on her lips.

A moment later, she leaned in again and took him in her mouth. His hips jerked, and he swelled in her mouth. Humming in pleasure, she swirled her tongue around the head, tasting the drop of fluid that escaped. She caught his gaze again, and was mesmerized by the look in his eyes and on his face. She took more of him in her mouth, sucking and licking his hot hard length.

Sam's eyes slammed shut as he bit back the urge to pump into her mouth. "Ainsley," he ground out. Fingers grasping blindly in her hair, he tugged. "Stop."

She released him immediately and he sighed in sweet, but short-lived, relief. She was kissing him on the mouth again. He opened to her and tasted himself on her. A wholly erotic experience for him, and suddenly he needed to feel her skin against his, feel her heat surround him.

With jerky movements, he tugged at her camisole wanting to see, and to touch, and to taste the creamy skin of her breasts.

Rising to her knees again, she crossed her arms and grabbed the edge of her cami, pulling it up and off her body with a single fluid motion.

Her breasts dropped into their natural position and Sam hissed in appreciation. Oh, they were perfect―not to big, not too small, perfect pink aureoles topped with rosebud nipples. Then she shimmied out of her sleep shorts.

In the blink of an eye, he sat up and dragged her across himself to straddle his lap. Taking one pink bud into his mouth, he cupped the other. He licked and laved and suckled the one, while he circled and rubbed and flicked the other. Quiet breathy _ohs_ and _ahs_ escaped her. He was doing that to her, and it only fueled his own rising passion.

She began to move in his lap, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders for balance. Her fingers squeezed as he switched breasts. When he lightly nipped the other nipple with his lips, she threw her head back and let out a cry of pleasure. Her hair brushed his thighs making him jump.

"_Now_, Ainsley," he growled, gripping her hips and maneuvering them both until his erection sat nestled between her slick, swollen folds. "Ready?" he asked.

"Oh, yes..." Her reply came out in a mindless whisper.

With a sure thrust, he sheathed himself in her, their simultaneous groans filling the room. He rested his forehead against her chin, and he felt her kiss the top of his head. With gentle pressure on her hips, he set her into motion.

She took the hint and found a rhythm she liked, undulating in a rocking motion. Her soft noises reached his ears and he felt his own excitement building. The slick hot friction sent sparks of excitement through his whole body, and he began pumping into her harder.

She gasped at each thrust and called his name with each retreat.

Sam..._gasp_...Sam..._gasp_...Sam..._gasp_.

"Oh, Sam," she cried out when she reached her climax, but continued to move atop him.

Her body spasmed around him, and he thrust once, twice, three times and then found his own release, alternately calling out Ainsley and the Creator's name.

They sat motionless for several long moments, both breathing heavily, forehead against forehead. He rocked his head down until his lips met hers and he kissed her sweetly.

Suddenly he stiffened. "Oh, Ainsley, honey, I'm so sorry―I didn't even think―we didn't discu―"

She pressed another kiss to his mouth, effectively shutting him up. "Now what are you blathering on about?" she asked, her face flushed and relaxed, looking very much like a woman who has been well and thoroughly loved.

"Protection―I have condoms, I just got caught up in you and completely forgot."

She smiled. "It's okay; I'm on the Pill."

Sam relaxed. Not that he didn't want kids with her, but he'd only just gotten her and wanted her to himself, at least, for a little while.

He felt himself shrinking inside her, and apparently so did she because she slid off his body and snuggled up next to him again.

"Mmm, now how about breakfast?" he asked, his own stomach finally making itself known.

"Mmm. Good idea."

"As soon as I can move." He felt languid and satiated and didn't know if his legs would hold him.

"No hurry," she murmured.

After a short nap, they dragged themselves out of bed. He pulled on a clean pair of boxer shorts. And when she pulled on the wrinkled blue shirt he'd worn the night before, she'd never looked more alluring. She buttoned it up and headed for the kitchen. She tucked herself into a chair and watched him.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, holding a frying pan in one hand and the carton of eggs in the other.

She opened her mouth to answer, but frowned. "Okay, there are too many 'its' between us now for me to know which one you're talking about."

"What happened last night. About Dan, do you want to talk?" He didn't want there to be secrets between him and Ainsley; no topic would be―could be―verboten. That had been another problem between him and Lisa; there had been things they had both refused to talk about. He set the skillet on the burner, sprayed it with cooking spray, and turned on the heat.

She looked down and played with the shirttails. "I was ugly to him. I tried not to be but he was so angry. I think he wanted me to be mean, so he could hate me."

Sam nodded, whisking the eggs and pouring them in the skillet. "It's easier that way. But bad for the soul." He knew that from experience.

"Yeah. I told him he was a replacement for you."

"I'm sorry about that," Sam said kneeling in front of her. "I shouldn't have said that to you, Ainsley, it was hurtful. And it's not really true."

She met his gaze, tears pooling in her eyes. "Yes, it really is."

He peered at her. "What?"

"He reminded me of you in almost every way. It was what first appealed to me."

"At most, it's subconscious."

She nodded. "Maybe." She wrapped her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. The tears trickled down her cheeks creating small wet spots on the shirt.

"If it's any help, it's the greatest compliment I've ever gotten."

She looked uncertain. "Really?"

"Yeah."

She reached out and hugged him. "Thank you."

"And when I propose I'll remember my speech."

She grinned, and then her face fell. "Oh, no. The wedding plans. I have to cancel everything."

"I'll take care of it."

She shook her head. "You don't have to."

"Hey, I'm still your gentleman of honor."

She smiled softly. "And you always will be."

"Oh, hey..." he said, his eyes widening, "...in the heat and rush of this morning's activities, I forgot about your tattoo. We've made love; now let me see your tat."

"What's that smell?" Ainsley asked, wrinkling her nose.

Sam jumped up. "Crap, the eggs are burning." He grabbed the skillet off the burner and dumped it with a metallic thud into the sink. He turned to her, hands on hips. "Well, how about we go out?"

She shook her and laughed as she got up. "Sit. I'll make pancakes."

"I can't cook," he bemoaned, plopping into the seat she'd just vacated.

"This is why you need me." She turned the water on in the sink, eliciting a steamy sizzle from the still-hot frying pan. Then she started rummaging for pancake makings.

"One of the many reasons why I adore you. Wait―your tat," he said, slapping his hand lightly on the table. "You're not going to distract me any longer. Let's see it."

She set the box of pancake mix and the whisk on the counter and then reached for the shirttails. Slowly, she separated them, revealing the smooth creamy expanse of her belly and pubic area, and the American flag just to the inside of her hipbone.

Sam laughed and leaned in to inspect it further. "That's perfect. Not what I expected, and certainly not anything I fantasized about, but it's absolutely perfect." He kissed it.

She gasped lightly, and touched his silky hair.

Then her stomach growled quite loudly, and they both laughed.

"Can I make breakfast now, please?" she asked. "I don't think I'm going to last much longer without sustenance."

"Of course."

Within a few moments, she had batter prepared and was expertly cooking pancakes. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her hair and neck.

Here they were. Together. Something he despaired of happening a scant twenty-four hours earlier. Last night he thought his heart was going to break, and now he thought it just might burst from sheer joy. Emotion flooded him and he choked back his tears, sniffling into her neck.

"Oh, my gosh, what's wrong, sugar?" she asked, turning in his embrace, and wrapping her arms around his neck.

He shook his head, his face still tucked into her neck. "This is my fantasy, Ainsley," he said, his voice full of emotion. "You and me doing everyday ordinary things together."

"No sex?"

He chuckled. "Of course, there's sex. What kind of fantasy would it be without sex?"

"That's what I thought." she said. She loosened her grip on him, forcing him to meet her gaze. "I love you, Sam Seaborn."

"I love you, too, Ainsley Hayes."

"After breakfast can we go back to bed?" she asked. "Or the shower. Or the couch. Or the wall. Or the floor."

He grinned. "Oh, yeah."

~*~

One year later...

The vows had been spoken, the bouquet and garter had been tossed, the dollar dance danced, the cake cut, and bite sized pieces lovingly fed to one another. And now it was time to go. Ainsley had gone upstairs to her girlhood bedroom to change into traveling clothes. Sam had already changed into white linen pants and a blue-hued Hawaiian shirt and dock shoes, and now waited by the open door of the limo.

"It was a helluva wedding, Sam," said Josh, who stood with Sam. Josh still wore his tux, although his bow tie was long gone and the top button of the starched shirt had been undone. "I hope you two will be as happy as Donna and I have been."

Sam glanced at Josh's family. His twin four-year old daughters raced around happily, one with their mother's blonde hair and the other with their father's reddish brown hair, as Donna chatted with C.J. and Danny and lovingly caressed her swollen belly. Josh and Donna had been assured by their OB/GYN that it was a boy. They'd know for sure in less than two months.

Even Dan had called a couple of days into the new year to say he'd met someone and had actually married her on New Year's Eve. Ainsley had been more than pleased. And Sam had been relieved.

The two men hugged. "Thanks for everything, Josh. It wouldn't have been the same without you here."

Cheers and whistles drew Sam's gaze to where the rest of their guests had congregated along the verandah and the circular drive waiting for Ainsley to emerge.

When she did, she took his breath away again. The gauzy melon-colored summer dress hugged her figure in all the right places and he wished, not for the first time that day, that he'd postponed their departure until the following day. He wanted to make love to his _wife_. But he'd planned this trip as a special surprise for her, and they were on a schedule.

Ainsley hugged and kissed and stopped to talk with their family and friends as she made her way toward the limo.

When she finally reached Sam, the guests began chanting, "_Kiss, kiss, kiss_..."

He pulled her to him, and they shared a short but playful kiss, much to the delight of the onlookers, who cheered. Ainsley laughed when he released her.

"Are you ready, Mrs. Seaborn?" he asked, helping her into the car and climbing in behind her. The driver closed the door.

"So when are you going to tell me where we're going?" she asked, snuggling up to him.

"I'm not. It's a surprise, as you well know." Sam pressed a kiss to her forehead. "But you'll love it. I promise."

"You know how I feel about surprises." He'd finally learned the difference between the surprises she hated and the ones she loved. He tried to keep the ones that caused her anxiety to a minimum, but sometimes there was nothing he could do.

But this one they'd talked about. Ad nauseam. He pulled back a bit, and with a gentle forefinger under her chin, tipped her face to his. "Ainsley, we talked about this, and you said you were okay with me planning the honeymoon and with not knowing our destination."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm being a big baby." She took a deep breath and exhaled it. Then smiled.

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips so she knew he wasn't upset. "If it's going to cause you undue anxiety, then I'll tell you. But it just won't be the same."

She reached up and cupped his face. "You are so good to me. And I won't ask you to tell me because I know you've put so much thought and effort into planning the perfect honeymoon for me."

"For us," he said, pulling her back into his embrace. "But you know it's someplace warm."

She nodded. "Yes, I packed for warm weather as instructed. I even have a lovely little string bikini."

"Oh?" He supposed he could let her wear it once. But she wasn't going to need it. First of all, it was their honeymoon, and if she thought they weren't going to spend an inordinate amount of time making love, then she had another think coming.

"Yep. In black, to contrast nicely with my magnolia-like skin."

"That's too bad." He shook his head slowly.

"Why is that too bad?" she asked, her brow furrowing.

"Because you'll never get a chance to wear it."

"Why ever not?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," he said, kissing her forehead again. Because second of all, there wasn't going to be another living soul within miles of their destination, and if she thought she was going to spend much time with clothes on at all, well...they were both going to be tanned all over by the end of the week.

At Dulles, they boarded a plane headed for Miami.

Ainsley settled into her seat next to the window. "If we're going to Spring Training, I'm going to do awful things to you."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, tucking their carry on bags in the compartment above their seats.

"Florida? Isn't that where Josh used to go to see Spring Training?"

"Well, you know, Josh never made it to Spring Training. Not even once. But we, on the other hand..."

"So help me, Sam..." She tried to sound threatening, but she couldn't quite hide the teasing note.

"...are not going to Spring Training either." He grinned. "That's a different part of Florida."

"Oh...good."

"It'll be worth it, Ainsley. I promise. "

She smiled at him. "I know. I trust you. I really do."

They changed planes in Miami and were now on their way to the Bahamas, according to the flight info. She squeaked. "The Bahamas. Oh, Sam..." She'd always wanted to visit the Bahamas.

"Sort of," Sam hedged.

"We're not going to the Bahamas?" Disappointment tinged her voice.

"Honey, it's going to be better than the Bahamas. And if we want to take a day or two to go to the Bahamas, we can, okay?"

She sighed. "Okay...I'm just anxious and eager. I want to start enjoying our honeymoon; I'm tired of the _going on _part."

"You and me, both. But we're almost there. Hang on just a little bit longer okay?"

When the plane set down in Nassau, it was almost sunset. Sam loaded them into a taxi and instructed the driver to take them, not to a hotel, but to the marina. He dragged Ainsley and all her bags down one of the docks until they reached a motorboat.

"Last leg, sweet thing, I promise. And it's a relatively short one."

She blinked, her face falling. "You're taking us out to sea? In that?"

"Ainsley, please don't look like that. And we're not going out to sea."

Before Sam had a chance to say anything else, a man appeared from on the boat. "_Meester_ and _Meesus_ Seaborn?" the man asked in accented English.

"That's us."

"Come, come―_Meester_ Calvin―he say siete, no?"

"Lo siento, Señor. The plane was delayed."

He offered Sam a crooked smile. "Is okay. Come."

"Come on," Sam said to Ainsley, helping her into the boat. He settled her in the bow and wrapped a blanket around her. "You might want to do something with your hair."

The men loaded the suitcases and bags into the boat, spreading out the weight. Sam joined her up front as the man started the engine and headed into open water. A half hour later, the motorboat pulled up to the dock of a small island.

It was a few acres at most. The water near the island was so shallow the dock was quite a ways out. After Sam and the man unloaded all the luggage, Sam helped Ainsley out of the boat and up onto the dock.

"Muchas gracias," Sam said, shaking the man's hand and slipping him a $100 bill for his trouble.

The man nodded and grinned. "De nada. You call if you need. There is food and drink in la hacienda. I come Sábado." The man pointed at all the luggage on the dock and then made a hand gesture like he was pushing a shopping basket. "There is cart en la hacienda."

"Gracias," Sam said and heaved a sigh of relief. He waved as the man sped off in the direction they'd just come. It would have taken him two or three trips to hand-carry their luggage up the house. Then he turned his attention to his bride.

Ainsley stared after the boat and then looked at the island. Then she looked up at Sam. And then back at the boat. Then at the island.

And then she got it. A huge smile bloomed on her face. "You brought me to a deserted island?"

He smiled shyly. "Yeah."

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him without another word. They kissed for several minutes, the heat and want building between them as it did so easily. Since there was no one there to see, he thought about making love to her right there on the dock, but someone would end up with splinters and ruin a perfectly good honeymoon, so he decided against it. For now. Maybe they could come back later with a blanket...

"So how did you pull this all together?" she asked, looking toward the small bungalow that would be their honeymoon suite for the next six days. She linked her arm in his as they walked toward the shore.

"It belongs to a friend of mine. He said we could use it for the week. Calvin Trager, he was at the wedding."

"I love you. And I love Calvin."

"So you'll stay with me on this deserted island?"

"Oh, yeah. For as long as you want."

He kissed her again. "I love you. Let's go settle in."

She grinned. "There's no place I'd rather be."

~ Fin ~


End file.
